Alright, you guys convinced me that I should continue with this. I was actually going to keep it a one-shot. And I'm thrilled that you guys loved the first chapter. I feel like Daryl and Carol would be really good friends and I honestly hope they DON'T become something more. Is that wrong? Because if they do in the series, I'll literally scream. Does anybody feel the same way or am I the only one? Anyways, I'll feel like this chapter isn't very good since I wrote it with no inspiration. And it's been awhile since I wrote a fighting scene so I hope it's good enough...

Well, off to study for my Algebra II and English final. Wish me luck!

Disclaimer:The Walking Dead is owned by Robert Kirkman.

It Was Nonetheless A Laugh

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He was actually quite proud of the number he did on that walkin' lump of nothin'. When he had led Ed out in the woods, deep enough so that no one could hear Ed's soon-to-be grunts of pain, Daryl whipped right around, and smashed the butt of his crossbow into that asshole's face, a nasty-looking cut splitting open. Daryl had dropped his crossbow, finishing the work with his fists. The redneck knew that he broke the man's nose when he heard a sickening, yet satisfying crack and that he busted Ed's bottom lip open. But the one thing that made Daryl swell with pride was the swollen, black eye he had given that creep, the most noticeable injury he had. Everyone at the camp, especially the women, would whisper whenever Ed passed by, but no matter how the man tried to cover up the reminders, that black eye was still there for everyone to see.

Yes, Daryl was quite proud of his handiwork.

But right now, he had to push those thoughts to the back of his head, and focus on the task at hand. It was his job (even though the other campers never had say in it) to hunt for meals, meals that would last them for a least a week before they needed more. The survivors silently looked up to him when it came to food, no matter what it was, and for some reason that made the pit of his stomach feel like it was on fire.

His footing had to perfect, slowly coming around a tree that was between him and his prey. Crossbow titled up, ready to be brought down, and shot. A decent-sized buck was lingering a couple yards away from where he stood, lowering its head down to munch on whatever grass it could find. Daryl peered around another trunk that he hid himself behind, light blue eyes staring intensely at the animal he planned to take home for dinner. From the size of the deer and the number of survivors, it'd feed them for at least four days. He'd have to get some squirrel too to keep their food supply full for at least a two more days.

There was a fallen trunk about three yards from where he stood. Crouching low, he slowly treaded over to the trunk, ducking behind it when the deer's head shot up. Daryl's chest lifted and descended slightly, the man trying to keep his breathing labored. A deer's hearing was incredible; the slightest noise could trigger them, their nimble feet taking action. Daryl pushed himself off the ground a bit, looking over the log. The buck's backside was facing him now, head up and scanning its surroundings for any predators. Unbeknownst to the buck, he had a predator lurking in the shadows.

And unbeknownst to Daryl, he also had a predator sneaking behind him.

A snap of a twig and it was too late. Daryl barely turned to check from behind when an aluminum baseball bat collided into the side of his head. The sound of the thud that came from the attack was enough to send the deer running; he knew that for a fact. But right now, Daryl was trying to focus in on the attacker, but his vision was blurred. His head had a throbbing pain searing through to the core. The hunter knew it couldn't be a Walker since they were too dumb to even pick up a baseball bat. Daryl struggled to get up, barely on his hands and knees before he received another wallop against the head, sending him face first into the ground again.

"You think you can get away with beatin' me, you filthy…" The bat swung into his right shoulder. "Inbred…" Another collision between flesh and metal. "Son of a bitch!" Daryl's body ached with each time the bat met his flesh. Finally, his vision cleared enough to see Ed Peletier towering over him, aluminum bat raised behind his head, ready for another attack. When the bat came down, Daryl rolled over just enough so that the bat narrowly missed his side, thudding against the ground below them. Ed scowled, slowly raising his bat up.

"My turn, shithead!" Daryl hissed. He swept his foot across the ground, colliding with Ed's legs, sweeping the burly man clean off his feet. The hunter immediately retaliated by climbing atop the son of a bitch, straddling him. He grabbed the man's collar, bringing Ed's bruised face close to his bloodied one. "Yeah, I thought I could get away with beatin' the shit out of you. Now, I know I shoulda killed ya."

Ed chuckled darkly, "And risk gettin' thrown out of the camp? Leavin' you to fend for yourself? Real smart, you dumbass redneck." Ed felt the man's hands shaking, probably from either adrenaline or anger, maybe even both. The father looked up into Daryl's eyes and now wished he hadn't. There was a fire in them, a fire that he sometimes saw in his wife's eyes just before he would smack her over onto the ground. Only this time, it wasn't Carol, it was Daryl, and this man wasn't someone to mess with. He was lucky enough to land a few hits on the man before the hunter came back at him.

"I don' care 'bout that fuckin' camp. What I do care 'bout is your daughter. That little girl's done nothin' to you and you have the balls enough to go off and hit her. Only a sick fuck would do somethin' like that."

"Sue me, I'm a sick fuck." Ed laughed.

Daryl's fist collided with Ed's jaw, a sickening crack ringing through the air. Ed grunted in pain, his own fists swinging around in search of something to hit. He successfully landed a punch on Daryl's cheek, knocking the man to the ground beside him. The burly "father" crawled on top of him, bashing his fist against the man's head before Daryl caught his fist, pinning it to the ground. Ed glared down at his handy work, loving how crimson blood spilled over the corners of the redneck's mouth, a busted top lip glimmering. The man's eye was a lovely shade of dark purple, brimming with black and blue, and his cheeks were red and swollen. Yes, Ed was proud of the work he was doing.

Before Ed could give the little bastard another bruise, Daryl sputtered something.

"Why…?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that to your little girl? Beatin' her up and givin' her bruises. Does it make you feel powerful? Huh? 'Cause if it does, jus' thought I'd let ya know that ev'ryone in the camp thinks you're a sick, spineless, no good, dirty rotten, lazy-ass bastard who's better off dead than alive."

Then, Daryl collected a wad of saliva in his mouth, and spewed it across the pudgy man's face, his grin showing off his blood-covered teeth. Ed scowled, clobbering the man's head a final time before something else stopped him.

"Ed! Hey, Ed! Where are you?" someone shouted, sounding a lot like Morales. Ed looked up, Daryl leaning his head back so that he could also see who was coming towards them. He watched as two men-Morales and Shane-approach the two, one of them holding a shotgun and the other grasping firmly on an axe, both ready to swing or shoot at anything that walked with a limp.

Ed gathered Daryl's collar in his hands, bringing the redneck's face close to his. "If you ever look towards me again, I'll make sure I hit you so hard, you won't wake up again." And that was that. Ed pushed Daryl to the ground, standing up shakily. The burly man glared down at the blonde, sneering unpleasantly. He collected a wad of spit in his mouth, hacking up something foul from the back of his throat, and spat it down on the hunter. Daryl collected enough to strength to swing his leg around, sweeping Ed's legs from under him. Daryl struggled to his feet and was about to pounce on the bastard when an axe stopped him. He looked over into the brown eyes of Morales, who was shaking his head. The hunter looked back at his prey and saw how Shane had his shotgun pointed at Ed, directly at his head.

"That's enough you two." Shane muttered, "We have enough problems, we don't need more."

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When Carol's eyes laid upon her husband, retreating from the forest with new bruises bordering his face, she rushed over to check on him. It was always her initial reaction when she saw her husband in trouble or in pain, and the looks he was giving, so full of anger and pain, she felt…scared… She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he grabbed her wrist swiftly, jerking her towards him roughly.

"If you ever talk to that son of a bitch," His grip tightened. "I'll kill you."

Her husband pushed her away and Carol felt tear brim at the corners of her eyes.

She jumped when she saw felt a tough-skinned thumb slide across her cheekbone, wiping away whatever tears were falling. Carol's eyes shifted over to the comforting figure: Daryl. He looked just as horrible as Ed, with a busted top lip, swollen cheek, a gruesome-looking shiner, and a grotesque bruise forming on his right shoulder. And he had that little smile at his lips, his eyes squinting; something she noticed would happen whenever he smiled. Daryl took her face in both his large hands, thumbs brushing away more tears. This was so foreign to her; usually when she cried, she was slapped over and over again.

"Why you cryin'?" he asked.

She couldn't get the words out; they were lodged in the back of her throat, allowing the sobs to pass through first. All she could do was shake her head, crying pathetically. Carol looked up to see a tear running down Daryl's cheek, unbeknownst to him. The woman felt a small smile crack her lips.

"W-Why a-are you c-crying?"

Daryl frowned, "I ain't cryin'. It's hotter than nine hells out here," He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "My eyes are sweating…"

And she laughed, a small laugh, but it was nonetheless a laugh.

And he liked her laugh.